


(Not Quite) Alone

by Emmeebee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, lycanthropy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:52:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3466700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmeebee/pseuds/Emmeebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Infected with lycanthropy, Lavender fled Britain for a life of anonymity and solitude in France. Now, having no recollection of her actions after she escaped the night of the last full moon, she struggles with depression and fears about her own humanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Not Quite) Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my brother for betaing this.  
> Originally posted on ff.net on 2 May 2014.

The lake shimmers in the moonlight, momentarily mesmerising me. I used to be able to get lost in the Great Lake, letting it draw me in and take me away from the chaos of that final year, but now I can see bodies of water for what they really are: pretty distractions. Unable to look at it any longer, I close my eyes, breathing in the fresh air, the chill. It bites a little, but I'm used to that. The scars on my arms are a testament to that. I try to lose myself in the moment, let the peacefulness take me away from the cacophony inside my head, but it doesn't work. My thoughts keep drifting back to that night, trying to hack away at its blankness, before shutting their metaphorical eyes and running like a scared little girl. But that's not me anymore. She's not me.

Once upon a seemingly very distant time, I would never have felt comfortable sitting out here, alone at midnight in a foreign city. But the things in the dark no longer hold sway over me. I've fought men with twice my age and quadruple my experience. I've fought for freedom with all that I had and tasted the bitter victory of having fought and sacrificed for a side whose civilians no longer want you because of what that did to you. So let anyone who wants to come at me do so. I can take them. And if I can't – well, if they take me, maybe that's okay too.

Maybe that'd be better, even. I wonder what the next thing would be. I wouldn't come back as a ghost – no, regardless of whatever disdain or disrespect my year had for me, no one ever doubted that I was bold, that I would reach for what I wanted and take it and whatever consequences came attached. Besides, would my condition surpass even death, forevermore haunting the haunter? No, I'd accept what came. I guess that's me nowadays, the accepter. Time has not taken away my fearlessness, only made it manifest differently. Previously it was that I thought nothing good came of lying about what you wanted, so I never did, consequences be damned; now it's because I, unafraid for my person, no longer care what happens. Or perhaps I do still care what happens to me, all too well as a matter of fact, except that I'm not quite sure where that caring leaves me.

Definitely not as the brave little girl I used to be, the one who fought the monsters. Now I'm worse than them. Only occasionally, of course, but occasionally monstrous is more than heinous enough – is too much. I'm not worse morally, I suppose. I don't have a say in it. To what extent can a mindless monster be held to account for their actions? Does their mindlessness excuse them or their monstrosity render them worthless? The latter is what everybody back home seems to think, to be sure. Well, not the people who hold Remus Lupin and Rubeus Hagrid and Firenze up as war heroes. But the lawmakers, the employers, everyone who gets a say in what you can do in life, they think so. They're the ones with the loudest voices, so theirs are the opinions that affect. Not the affected laypeople's.

A softly whistled lullaby catches my ear. He's here. Of course he is. He always finds us when we need him. I don't look at him when he stops beside me. He knows I know it's him.

"A lavender for your thoughts," he says, his voice thick with his French accent, holding out a crumpled flower that I suspect he took from Manon's garden on his way here.

I take it, stare at it, let it fly free. I don't know where the breeze will take it, but it's better than me seeing it wither. It's like that cat Hermione mentioned once, I guess. As long as you don't know whether it's dead or alive, it can be simultaneously both or neither. I can keep hope that it will never wilt. Still, it was nice of him. "Am I worse than the people I fought?"

"The Death Eaters, you mean?"

"Yeah. I can't decide who's worse. They choose to kill or hurt people they don't like. I don't choose to hurt or kill people, but then I can't hold myself back either."

"It's a disease. It's not your fault."

"Isn't it? No one knows what happened the other night."

"We've been keeping an eye out for anyone seeking medical help and have been scouring the countryside. Françoise is tracking your trail, looking for anything out of the ordinary. She can't say anything definite yet, but her update was that you didn't appear to have yet crossed the path of anything human."

"I'll feel better when she's finished."

"Lavender, this was our fault. We thought we'd given you enough of the potion to subdue you. We'll give you more and keep a closer eye on you next time. You won't get out again."

"And if I do anyway? And if I turn on one of you?"

"I assure you, if it's a choice between stopping a hungry werewolf from getting us or being set upon, we will do whatever we can to avoid being werewolf chow. Lav, I know this was a shock that you definitely didn't need, but it's just that; a setback."

"A setback or a reminder? I'm half-human."

"You mentioned someone – a half-giant. Hagrid? Giants are known for being animalistic, killing one another to be head of the pack. Do you think he was lesser, because of what he was?"

"Well, no. Hagrid was always a little… rough, a little wilder than most people. But he was alright. Horrible teacher, but had a good heart and always meant well."

"So you're saying it affected him, but wasn't him?"

"Hagrid did some bad things, he brought bad things into the school. I'm a bad thing. There's a difference."

"You're still human. You're a human who is, about five percent of the time, in wolf form. How does that make rest-of-the-time you inherently bad, exactly?" I don't respond; I'm too busy thinking about what he said. He seems to realise that this is the time to push his point home. "We slipped up. We overestimated the strength of the potion. We'll do better next time. Lavender, you're not the first werewolf we've helped to adjust. You're not alone, however much you might feel like it. You'll never be alone unless you choose to be. Just hang in there. There is a light there somewhere, you just can't see it yet. Just, please, trust us and hold on until you can."

He doesn't mean it literally; I know he doesn't. But I reach out to clasp his gloved hand anyway. And, when he turns his in mine to squeeze it, for the first time since I first transformed, I feel like maybe I'm not quite alone anymore.


End file.
